


Commander

by Dizzy28



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Set in S4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzy28/pseuds/Dizzy28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She starts to think that humor might not be as safe as they thought, not anymore. Not when there seems to be so little to laugh about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commander

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt: ivanova+rainstorms.  
> I cheated a little bit for the sake of angst.
> 
> Set at the very end of S4 (or between seasons, if you want), and I moved Susan leaving to after Sheridan and Delenn are back in the station, even though iirc the show makes us think otherwise.

As irrational fears go, she supposes thunder is not that unheard of. She hates the fact that she used to love rain, she could still remember playing on the backyard of her house on Earth during thunderstorms, hear the sound of her father’s voice, calling her back inside, the feeling of water upon her face, the smell of wet grass, the smile of her mother as she watched her from the security of their home.

Now the sound and light only reminds her of blood, and battle. Of innocent lives lost in the most stupid of reasons. She never quite realised how alike thunder the lasers of the White Star felt until the battle had ended and had left her ears ringing.

There’s no thunder in space, no rain. There’s nothing in space, really. Blackness looking back at her from the window of the command station. And yet thunder is all she can hear when she tries to sleep, whenever she closes her eyes flashes of light assault her visual field - side effects from the wounds that should have ended her life, Franklin had said - divine punishment, she thinks.  
They had played God, and He would be reminding her for the rest of her life. Marcus lost his life, and she lost her iron will. What a shoddy deal.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts by his presence, but not startled. He’s too big to sneak by her, she has teased him about it mercilessly in the past, and there’s something else. A certain aura every time he enters a room. She thinks the fact that there are so many spiritual thoughts running through her mind is telling of how little sleep she has gotten in the past week.

“You’ve been married for 24 hours, isn’t it a bit early to be sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night?”

“She kicked me out. I was snoring.”

Susan shakes her head, and looks at his reflection on the glass. He’s standing besides her, giving her a smile that doesn’t take the haunted look away from his eyes, but she knows there’s a sense of security in their humor, there always has been, between them.

“Really?”

He scratches the nape of his neck self-consciously. 

“No. She’s a saint for putting up with it, though.”

 _I’d say_ , Susan thinks, but she doesn’t say it out-loud. There’s a moment of silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable between them.

He breaks it.

“Nightmares?”

She feels a sharp taste hit the back of her throat. Nightmares would imply sleeping. She nods all the same. 

“You?”

“I can’t remember a night without them.”

She can relate. It’s been a week since she came back to the station, a week since Marcus died. She feels a sort of maddening fury bubble up inside of her. She’s not sure who it’s directed at anymore. At Marcus, for giving it all for her when she couldn’t even open up to the possibility of reciprocating his feelings. At Clark, for… well, so many things, really. At John, for spending a whole week away from the station, away from her, when she needed him the most. She’s selfish enough to need Sheridan, even when she knows half the station feels that way. 

She sneaks a sideways look onto his face, and what she sees makes her anger deflate completely. He looks ragged, dark circles under his eyes, and his face is gaunt in a sickly way. She can’t believe this is the same man that could brighten up a room with a smile, back what felt like ages ago.

She starts to think that humor might not be as safe as they thought, not anymore. Not when there seems to be so little to laugh about.

It’s been a few moments of silence, and she thinks he would have spoken by now, if he really had anything to say. She does have something to say, as it happens, and whilst this is probably not the best time to bring it up, Susan’s never been known for her sense of timing.

“I’m leaving the station.” He flinches as if he’s been struck, and Susan regrets being so blunt about it. “I’m sorry, John.”

He clears his throat, and she feels his arm around her shoulders. Two thoughts hit her mind at the same time. How small she looks next to him, and how frail he feels as her arm comes around his waist. The two thoughts seem contradictory, and yet so right. They are both broken. She shudders, and he slowly turns her towards him, wraps his other arm around her and pulls her into a hug.

“It’s okay. I understand.” His voice sounds hollow, and she buries her face on his chest, feels tears wet his shirt, and wants to apologise for it, for leaving, for needing him. Wants to apologise for so much, but she just sobs quietly instead.  
His arms tighten around her, and she feels him choking out a phrase over and over through his own tears.

“We’re going to make it, Susan. _We’re going to make it_.”


End file.
